


Affections

by ladyhoneydarlinglove



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: M/M, Pre-Series, Rewrite, meme challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 13:26:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1228075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyhoneydarlinglove/pseuds/ladyhoneydarlinglove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Granby teaches Little to be a little more open, only for it to backfire on him horribly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Affections

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tanyart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Overlimit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/958229) by [tanyart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart). 



> Done as a rewrite of Tanya's SNK fic Overlimit for a swap meme challenge. As a side note, I like to imagine all the captains in Lily's formation are aware of Granby and Little's relationship and just choose to ignore it because none of them really care, except for Chenery, who is actively and enthusiastically involved in Little's love life, more so than Little.

Little’s reserved nature, one rarely given to great display of emotion or affection, has served him well over the years as an asset to the discretion of his preferences. If the price to pay for secrecy creates a reputation of prone to being quiet and withdrawn, Little cannot complain. He ensures his affairs take place in dark rooms, behind the safety of locked doors, and while Little can't claim to be ashamed of his choice, he will not let suspicions lead him to the noose either; for Immortalis' sake, if not his own. Yellow Reapers being common as they are, the Admiralty can afford to lose one, and Little can't bear the thought of Immortalis stuck in the breeding grounds for the rest of his days as a consequence of Little's own actions. 

"As though I would let them hang you," Immortalis snorted, when the topic came up once. "I may not be the fastest or strongest dragon in England, Augustine, but I should like to think I could at least protect you from being hanged over something as trivial as that."

"Nonetheless, my dear," Little said. "I would rather the situation never arise. I am glad to keep the matter private, so long as I have you."

Immortalis nudged Little's head, rumbling happily. "Still," he insisted. "If you should ever find someone with whom you wish to show more affection, I am sure you will be safe among the Corps. At least I have never known any dragons to think different of those men like you."

"Dragons are not men," Little said. "More's the pity."

 

Little transfers from the Dover covert up to Loch Laggen on the advice of Captain Chenery, to join the new formation for a young Longwing. It proves a welcoming change, if only for the chance to be reunited with his oldest friend, whom, in the one instance Little was caught sharing an illicit kiss, could only be bothered to say, "Jones? But he's got those sticky-out ears! They make him look like a bloody elephant!"

“You’ll like it here,” Chenery assures Little, helping him unpack and set up his new room. “It’s more lenient than Dover.”

“More lenient?” Little laughs. “I wasn’t aware that was even possible for the Corps.”

“No, I mean… The aviators up here, they’re a little more… open, I suppose.” Chenery smiles at him. “They have to be, with a Longwing captain in the mix.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?” Little asks, raising an eyebrow.

Chenery laughs. “Not at all,” he says. “By the way, have you met lieutenant Granby yet? I’m sure you will soon, he’s hard to miss; tall, lean, freckles—“ He ducks the book Little throws at him, howling with laughter as Little chases him from the room.

 

Little ends up meeting Lieutenant Granby that very evening at supper, and becomes somewhat anguished to find Chenery’s taunting not at all off mark, though Little might personally call Granby’s physique more lanky than lean. But a dashing and friendly grin graces his face, easily standing up to his sunburnt and freckle-spattered cheeks, and Little, who perhaps enjoys freckles more than he will ever tell anyone, cannot keep his attention from being drawn.

“You’re a captain, then?” Granby asks Little, once seated to eat, formal introductions finished. “Who’s your dragon?”

“Immortalis,” Little answers, unable to keep the pride out of his voice.

“Oh! Yes, a Yellow Reaper, isn’t he? I think I’ve seen him before. You served at Gibraltar for a short while, with Laetificat’s formation?”

“Yes, though only as a substitute for Decius while he recovered from that nasty canon shot. Were you in Gibraltar as well then?” Little smiles sheepishly. “I’m ashamed to admit I don’t remember you.”

“Oh no, pray don’t dwell on it. We were never formally introduced; I was only second lieutenant on Laetificat at the time, we would never have crossed paths. But what brings you to Loch Laggen?”

Conversation flows easily with Granby, and by the end of the night, Little finds himself quite smitten. The sentiment balloons in the following weeks, as Granby makes a point to seek Little out, showing him around the covert and introducing him to the other aviators. Granby makes a popular figure, with his bright personality and charming smile, and despite his deepening affections and the risks which come with them, Little continues to allow himself to be coaxed into Granby’s company.

Then, one evening, after news of an English victory in the Mediterranean reaches the covert, Little finds himself loosened by a hearty meal and far too many glasses of port and brandy. Granby, himself not much more coherent, makes it his personal mission to help Little back to his room, and in the dark, inhibitions stripped away, they kiss.

When Little wakes the following morning, head pounding and throat dry, he finds himself trapped by a still sleeping Granby, curled tightly around Little in what can only be described as a possessive manner. It takes several minutes of prodding before Granby so much as groans. “S’too early,” he mumbles, burying his face in Little’s neck.

“Come now, we must rise. You need to leave before the other aviators start waking up,” Little says.

“Why?” Granby grumbles.

“So they don’t see you, of course,” Little says, surprised by Granby’s disregard for discretion. “What would they say if they saw you emerging from my room now?”

“They would not say anything, because they will think I was simply too drunk to make it back to my own room,” Granby protests, but he sits up. “It has been many years since I was at the Dover covert, but things are a little more lax up here, Augustine. That isn’t to say we ought to go flaunting ourselves, of course, but I give you my word there’s no shortage of willful ignorance.”

The echo of Chenery’s earlier sentiments eases Little, and when Granby finishes his haphazard job of attempting to clothe himself, Little rises, drawing Granby in for a kiss. “That is good to hear,” he admits, smiling when Granby wraps himself around Little, nuzzling his neck. “Though I fear my habits will be hard to break, being used to secrecy as I am.”

Granby hums. “I am sure I can rid you of them soon enough,” he promises, kissing Little on the cheek.

 

Little does not see Granby again until a few nights later, while sitting with some of the other captains serving in the Longwing formation; Sutton, Warren, and Berkley, as well as Chenery. Granby appears in the midst of their conversation, asking, "Hullo gentlemen, mind if I join you?" and without waiting for an answer, takes the seat next to Little. "Where did you get that pudding?"

"It was the last one," Little answers.

"That's not fair. What about the rest of us poor puddingless souls?"

"I'm sure if you asked, the kitchens could make some more," Little says, and Granby grins.

"No, I wouldn't want to bother them. I'll just take some of yours." Granby reaches over, his nose pressing against Little's cheek as he spears the pudding with his fork. Little's breath catches in his throat— _are you mad?_ he wants to yell—but then Granby's settled back into his seat, eyes sparkling with mirth as he eats the forkful of pudding.

A deep flush blooms over Little’s cheeks and he casts a glance over the table, but sees nothing except chuckles and smiles of amusement. “Oi, Augustine, how come you’ll share your pudding with Granby but not me?” Chenery asks in a wounded voice, yelping when Berkley elbows him hard in the ribs.

“What are you complaining about, you’ve got a pudding!” Berkley grumbles. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and go ask the kitchens for some more, eh?”

“Gentlemen,” Sutton says, trying to look stern, though he can’t seem to keep the corners of his mouth down. “Please, if it’s going to cause this much trouble, have my pudding.”

A cry of protest arises from the table and Little watches, bemused, as the exchange goes unnoticed. Something presses against his leg, and Little glances down to find Granby’s thigh pressed against his own. Little looks at Granby in question, cheeks heating again, but Granby remains focused on the new discussion of who ought to ask for more pudding, enthusiastically lending his support for Chenery. No one so much as glances in their direction, and after a moment, Little returns to his meal, silently sliding his pudding closer to Granby before tucking into his potatoes.

 

As exchanging affections in public cannot be safe, Little chalks the incident up to a lapse of judgment and doesn’t dwell upon it. But his assumption proves wrong, and Little soon finds himself on the receiving end of a ceaseless string of gestures; brushed hands at the supper table, arms slung around shoulders whenever possible, Granby leaning in closer than he ought. He talks Little into playing football only to spend most of the games attempting to brush up against Little as many times as he can, rendering Little into a useless player. If Little suggests something more subdued, like chess or cards, Granby will press their legs together, and sometimes nudge Little’s foot with his own, and Little finds himself making the most careless mistakes as his concentration falters.

One afternoon, while Little shows off some of his sketches at the request of Berkley and Harcourt, Granby appears and rests his hands on Little’s shoulders as he peers over the drawings, stunning Little into silence. “You never told me you were an artist!” Granby exclaims, reaching over to pick up a sketch of Immortalis, his torso pressing against the back of Little’s head. “Good God, how on earth did you manage such a likeness? I have been around dragons my entire life and I’ve never been able to draw so much as a satisfactory wing.”

“Oh! Do you draw as well, Granby?” Harcourt asks, and Granby laughs. Little feels it vibrate through his whole body.

“I wouldn’t call it drawing so much as a mess of lines on paper, but yes, I suppose so.” He sits down next to Harcourt, and Little glances nervously at the other two captains; but their attention remains wholly occupied by Granby as he begins to sketch upon a spare piece of parchment, and Little cannot help but be drawn in as well. Soon, a loose but undeniable likeness of Harcourt forms, and when Granby hands it over, she smiles radiantly.

“It’s lovely, Granby, absolutely lovely,” she exclaims, tucking it away carefully, and Granby laughs.

“I’m sure you humor me,” he says.

“Not at all,” Little interjects. “You’ve quite a talent for drawing faces, John. Perhaps if you teach me how you do it I can teach you how to draw dragons.”

Granby shoots him a blinding grin. “I should like that very much,” he says. “Though I hope you won’t ask me to draw you, Augustine. I shall never be able to capture your handsome features properly.”

Little stares, but Harcourt and Berkley only laugh at the comment. “You are dammed handsome for an aviator, Little,” Berkley chortles. “Fine physique, no visible scars, no broken bones—how on earth do you manage it? You ought to be writing poetry about your long lost love out in the country instead of gallivanting around with us brutes.”

“Are we talking about Little and his bloody handsomeness?” Chenery appears, taking the seat on Little’s left. “You know he’s always been like this too? While the rest of us at Dover were fighting pockmarks and cracking voices in our youth, Augustine managed to make a seamless jump from cherubic to dashing overnight. It’s a lucky thing you’ve got that beak for a nose or we’d have tried to drown you in the lake.” He elbows Little in the ribs, grinning; Little kicks him under the table.

“Would you all like to here about where Chenery’s still got pockmarks?” Little asks lightly. Chenery slaps a hand over his mouth and the table descends into chaos, Little finding himself caught between a fighting Chenery and Granby, while Berkley and Harcourt laugh uproariously and cheer when Granby rescues Little from Chenery’s grasp.

“You are though, you know,” Granby tells him later as he walks Little to his room.

“What?”

“Damnably handsome.” Granby pecks Little’s cheek, grinning when Little’s face flushes scarlet. “Sweet dreams, Augustine.”

 

“I fail to see what the problem is,” Immortalis says when Little confides in him about Granby’s behavior, and Little scowls.

“The problem,” he stresses, “is that he’s being so blatant—“

“Have any of the other aviators said anything?” Immortalis asks, and Little pauses.

“Well, no, but—“

“Do you enjoy the affection?” Immortalis continues, and depressingly familiar warmth fills Little’s cheeks.

“It is not… entirely unwelcome,” he admits, and Immortalis snorts.

“Then as far as I can tell, Augustine, you haven’t a problem at all; you are only unfamiliar with the endearments. Instead of worrying about the unlikely consequences, why don’t you try enjoying them instead? You might even be able to return a few of your own.” He gazes at Little sternly, and Little silently bemoans the perceptiveness of dragons.

“I… I suppose it would not be the worst thing, if I did,” Little mumbles.

“There, you see? That was not so hard to admit, was it?” Immortalis brings his head close to Little’s, and Little cannot help but smile and stroke his muzzle.

“Thank you, my dear,” he says. “You are, as always, wise beyond your years.”

“It is not a matter of being wise,” Immortalis answers. “It is only a matter of not being stupid, which is an issue I fear humans may never conquer.” Little finds he cannot argue the point.

 

He stays with Immortalis until the sun begins to sink below the horizon, and only then does Little return to the fort. Yawning as he reaches his room, Little gropes blindly for the doorknob when arms wrap around his waist and a chin rests itself on his shoulder. “Hello,” Granby says. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Little flushes, but Immortalis’ advice rings in his ears and he attempts to gather his courage. Trusting the hallway to be as empty as it was moments ago, Little turns his head and presses a soft, hesitant kiss against Granby’s cheek. He feels Granby start behind him, and Little finds himself looking into a confused and rapidly reddening face as Granby stares at him. “What?” Little asks.

“N-nothing,” Granby stutters, and at Little’s raised eyebrow, continues, “Are, uh. Are you coming to supper?”

“Of course,” Little answers. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

“No, of course—that is—I,” Granby swallows and pulls back. “I’ll see you there.”

He gives Little a last, bewildered look before heading off, and Little smiles, beginning to understand the appeal.

 

At dinner when he reaches for the salt, Little brushes his fingers against Granby’s hand, and Granby’s speech falters. He glances at Little in question, but Little only smiles at he draws the salt to himself, and after a moment, Granby resumes his conversation with Martin.

A few days later, Granby coaxes Little into another game of football, and though Little’s team receives a solid trashing, he enjoys himself. As everyone walks to the baths together afterwards, Granby slings an arm around Little’s shoulder, apologizing loudly for having kicked the ball right into Little’s head earlier. Little takes a cursory glance, and once satisfied they are unwatched, leans closer to Granby and bumps their temples together. 

“It’s quite alright, John,” he says as Granby pauses mid-step, and Little takes the chance to duck out from under his arm. “I’m sure next game I shall manage to find someway to injure you in return.” Little smiles back at Granby as he continues to walk on, and Granby can only blink stupidly for a moment before starting and jogging to catch up with the group.

In the officer’s club later, Granby leans against Little’s shoulder in exaggerated exhaustion as he relates the day’s exploits to an amused Sutton, and underneath the table, he rests a hand on Little’s knee. Little takes a deep breath and places his hand over it, fitting his fingers in the spaces between Granby’s. Granby stops mid-sentence, and Little feels the hitch in Granby’s breathing against his shoulder. If Sutton notices, he says nothing.

It becomes a game of tit-for-tat; whenever Granby shows his affection, Little makes a pointed effort to respond. If Granby places his hand on the table during a chess game, Little brushes the tips of their fingers together every so often, thoroughly ruining Granby’s concentration. When Granby slings an arm around his shoulders, Little leans back almost imperceptibly, save for the falter he feels in Granby’s breathing. Granby will lean against him during meals or drinks in the officer’s club, and Little allows him, sometimes tracing his fingers in feather light patterns over Granby’s thigh, leaving their company to wonder why the lieutenant finds himself so tongue-tied as of late. And whereas Little finds himself acclimating easily to Granby’s gestures, Granby only seems more and more flustered by Little’s.

They meet in the hall one evening, and Granby links their pinkies together without looking as they walk and exchange pleasantries. It’s only them, so Little pushes further and laces all their fingers loosely together, and Granby jerks to a halt. “Will you stop that!” Granby hisses, pulling his hand away, and Little blinks at him.

“Stop what?” he asks innocently, working hard not to laugh when Granby makes a frustrated groan.

“You know what! That—those things! What you’ve been doing!” Granby answers, gesturing wildly at Little, who tilts his head, frowning politely.

“John, I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” Little says, turning to hide his smile when Granby throws his hands up in the air and stalks off, muttering vague threats and blasphemies upon Little’s person. “I’ll see you at supper, shall I?” Little calls after him.

“No, you bloody well won’t, you great clod!” Granby yells back, and Little slaps a hand over his mouth in a failed attempt to contain his laughter.

 

“You missed a lovely meal,” Little says cheerfully when he finds Granby in his room later, scribbling angrily upon a piece of parchment. “The lamb was perfectly cooked, and I don’t think I’ve ever had potatoes so crisp.” 

Granby glares at him. “Is this some sort of revenge?” he asks, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

“Revenge? What on earth for?” Little asks, feigning innocence as he sets a plate of custard tart down on the desk. “Surely you don’t take my character to be so wretched, John!”

Little picks up a spoonful of the tart, popping it into his mouth with a wounded look. Granby groans and buries his face in his hands. “Damn you, damn you,” he mutters, and stands, slipping an arm around Little’s waist and burying his face in Little’s neck. “You aren’t playing fair, Augustine.”

“How am I not playing fair?” Little asks, setting down the spoon and frowning at the top of Granby’s head.

“Because!” Granby says pitifully. “You will only start and blush around me, but a man can barely keep his presence around you, you’re just so damned charming. You only need to smile and brush your fingers against my hand and I lose all my wits. You’ll make a fool out of me in front of entire covert and I shall never be able to show my face again.”

He looks appropriately sheepish and miserable, and Little smiles. “I had no idea you were such a blushing maiden at heart, John,” he says, placing gentle fingers around the back of Granby’s neck and stroking a thumb over his jawline. Granby’s eyelids flutter and he tilts his head forward, brushing his nose against Little’s.

“It seems you’ve brought out an unknown side of me,” he admits in a mumble. “You’re unlike anyone whose company I’ve had the pleasure of sharing, Augustine. I’m afraid I don’t quite know what to do with myself around you.” His cheeks begin to flush, and Little’s own heat in return.

“Surely you exaggerate,” he answers, but Granby shakes his head, and Little tightens his grip around Granby’s neck reflexively. “I… I don’t know what say, John.”

Granby doesn’t answer, only looks up through his lashes at Little and smiles.


End file.
